


That's What You Call Me

by Librarity



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyguard, Crimes & Criminals, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jim is a Little Shit, Organized Crime, Pining Oswald Cobblepot, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Secrets, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-28 09:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19391281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Librarity/pseuds/Librarity
Summary: Oswald had to improvise, panicked by the prospect of watching Jim die then and there, his mouth blurted out, "Honey, I said I'd be right back! You were supposed to wait in the car!"Jim locked eyes with him, a thousand different things traveling between them as Oswald silently begged Jim to understand, "....er.... sorry, dear," Jim shrugged with a light, endearing chuckle, the look in his eyes telling Oswald so much, "I got bored. You were taking forever."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainChilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainChilly/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift fic for the amazing CaptainChilly!!

Jim stood straight and tall, rigid as a plank, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. The sheer irritation was radiating off of him like heat waves disturbing the air around him. He looked like a living storm cloud complete with lightening sparks. 

Oswald would have rolled his eyes if he did not think such action would make that attitude considerably worse. As it was, Jim was in enough of a tiff about being taken away from Gotham on an FBI sanctioned assignment that it was best not to exacerbate things. 

Commissioner or not, Jim was still the best there was and he was the only man Oswald actually trusted to watch his back regardless of his actual desire to be in the vicinity of the former kingpin. He had insisted on working with Jim and only Jim, but the government sent a few extras along anyway. 

While the Commissioner hesitated, extensively stating his reluctance, he ultimately did agree to the arrangement Oswald orchestrated. Most likely because he had his own reasons and grudges. 

It was moderately rare, though less rare than Jim would admit, but their interests were aligned. This particular goal took them both a considerable distance from Gotham. 

Leaving Gotham was most of Jim's issue with the trip, granted, but his current fit of temper was almost exclusively owed to the clothing he had been forced to wear. 

"This shirt is shiny! I look like a pimp." Jim groussed, looking dejectedly at his chest like he had been personally betrayed by the material.

Oswald put on a conciliatory expression, "You do not look like a pimp, Jim, it's what everyone is wearing right now. It's the current trend in this area. You're fitting in with the natives."

"It's ugly. It reminds me of something my grandmother might give you that you hide in the back of the closet." Jim insisted, entirely failing to see the humor. 

"It's really not that bad." 

Jim peered over at him from under those thick lashes of his, "Why do you get to wear your normal clothes but I have to walk around looking like I was wearing a really wrinkled blue shirt to a rave and got spray painted copper?"

Oswald simply couldn't help his reply, "Because I'm always fashionable, for one, and second, it's called metallic, Jim."

Jim's lower lip jutted out just slightly as he shot his companion a sour look but he refrained from commenting; instead, he fussed with the shirt, roughly adjusting it one way and then another. There was no word to describe the behavior besides "pouting" and it really should have been terribly annoying rather than adorable. It would be nice if he could find it in himself to be irritated, but Oswald had a talent for falling under Jim's spell. 

Oswald couldn't help the words he uttered, "If anything, you look less like a pimp and more like you'll be adorning street corners. No one will ever suspect you to be a cop."

Jim's jaw dropped, blue eyes round in a cute sort of mortification but the shock was swiftly replaced by the familiar scowl, "Thanks. Next time I want people to offer me money, I guess I know what to wear."

Oswald hummed in agreement, pretending to have missed the sarcastic bite. Call him petty, but he enjoyed this little bit of torment he could rain down upon Jim. In all honesty, it was fun and amusing to watch Jim flounder out of his element. Most of the time Jim was so in control, so sure footed that it gave the mobster quiet glee to see him like this. 

Perhaps it was cruel considering everything they had all endured after the bridges fell but Oswald was never accused of being anything else. For once, he had moderately altruistic motives in mind for his latest machinations. Mainly. 

Oswald ran a finger over the scarring around his eye, drawn back to those fateful days in the past they almost did not walk away from. Ed would not have approved of this in any way, which was exactly why Oswald did not tell him about it. 

After reunification, Oswald decided to take a few matters into hand. As Gotham began to take shape again, the army presence and general law and order inspired him to take a small vacation until things quieted down. He had great plans farther down the line, even legal plans, but before that, he had business with someone the law also had business with.

As that was the case he felt it was time he took care to settle those things and be a good citizen while also milking the situation for all he could. The military and the FBI were keen to track down one Nyssa Al Ghul and so was Oswald considering he really wanted her head _and_ his dog back. 

He went to the powers that be and proposed a beneficial solution for all parties. In exchange for his full pardon encompassing all his past deeds, he would become their CI for the case regarding Nyssa as he had informants, connections, and could move in circles the law could not. It was a win for everyone, and after he was finished setting out his case, the federal suits agreed with his proposal. 

They even agreed, mostly, to his condition to put Commissioner Gordon at the helm of things. They would not surrender full control, but they agreed to make Oswald, more or less, Jim's confidential informant in a more exclusive manner. 

Jim was working for the FBI on this as a liaison even though he rather hated it. It was a source of contention in addition to his under cover attire. That and Jim was bright enough to see what most of the suits hadn't. 

Oswald essentially got everything he wanted from the deal considering he had been sanctioned and given immunity, within reasonable petperimeters, to go after her with back-up he did not have to pay for.

"You're not supposed to look like yourself, Jim." Oswald reminded him, "looking like a cop when we are in mob territory will only get you shot."

Jim's scowl did not lift as he slipped his feet into his new shoes, "Why can't I at least wear normal socks?"

"Because, showing ankle is the latest trend. It makes you look more casual." Oswald explained patiently. 

"I look ridiculous."

Oswald let his eyes drag over that figure, including his ankles, "You look wonderful, very dashing, so stop complaining. You could look at this as a vacation where you are allowed to be something other than a cop. No one knows you here."

Jim threw his shoulders back, seeming to take the compliment as sarcasm, "Let's just go."

"And people say I've got problems with vanity." Oswald chuckled, earning himself and even more withering glare. 

* * *

The adrenaline began to subside the moment the door of the limo shut. Oswald sank into the seat like his bones had all been ripped out of him. His heart was still pounding frantically, taking years off his life, no doubt.

This was proving to be more challenging than Oswald anticipated. His nerves were utterly shot and had been for what felt like hours. He had not been able to calm down since he watched those thugs drag Jim into the room. Even now that the limo was a good distance away, he didn't feel drastically better. 

It still made him shaky to think how close Jim had come to getting a hole between his eyes. Such were the dangers of keeping company with the sorts of people Oswald did. Said people had a habit of shooting with precious few questions asked and he could not even say his policy was much different. 

With Hugo Strange very much in the wind he was not even sure he could have brought Jim back either and that was even worse. 

Things had been going fine in his meeting, perfectly fine, no different than meetings in abandoned warehouses usually went. He had been getting information and securing a few deals, deals he would use to his advantage for a time and then let the FBI cut the unwanted strings later. 

However, Jim clearly did not follow instructions or listen to anything Oswald had said about keeping his distance and plausible deniability as a few minutes before he was ready to wrap it all up nicely, Jim was dragged in at gunpoint. 

They discovered him lurking outside where he was _decidedly_ not supposed to be. Of course, that should not have been surprising considering who he was, but he could have had the decency not to get caught. 

Those huge, muscle bound gorillas had Jim surrounded, a gun pressed tight to the back of his head as they walked him forward. Oswald barely heard the thugs offer explanation past the roaring in his ears. 

There were a hundred considerably smarter things Oswald could have offered. He could have stated that Jim worked for him as a guard he instructed to wait outside though perhaps his mind dismissed that based on Jim's current appearance. Stuck in the midst of real hired muscle, Jim did not quite fit the aesthetic. 

He had felt his mind racing, and perhaps he really had thought it out, reasoned and measured the possible lies he could make sound legitimate. He was no longer sure what happened in those moments, only that he'd been overcome with a wild desperation to protect that idiot. 

Oswald had improvised, panicked by the prospect of watching Jim die then and there, his mouth blurted out the first thing he apparently could think of, "Honey, I said I'd be right back! You were supposed to wait in the car!"

Jim locked eyes with him, a thousand different, unnamed things traveled between them in those few seconds as Oswald silently begged Jim to understand, to back anything he came up with. Seemingly, as it so often was between them, Jim received his message loud and clear. 

Jim face simply transformed, a rueful, playful grin gracing his features that made him look suddenly so young, "....er.... sorry, dear," he shrugged with a light, endearing chuckle, "I got bored. You were taking forever."

Clearly the message Oswald feared might miss indeed traveled across and found it's mark. They really had always been terribly good at working together and even backing each other's play. 

Devon, a big man that always reminded Oswald of Sal Moroni without the accent, glanced between them for a moment before cocking a brow, "You know this guy?"

Oswald ripped his eyes from Jim and nodded quickly, smiling helplessly with a shrug, "Yes, he's... ah, my, well, you know," he couldn't exactly call Jim a 'boy toy' though 'boyfriend' sounded too much like a vulnerability and his mind was floundering over the right word to use. "We have an arrangement, of sorts, if you will. A mutual exchange... for our individual convenience."

Devon snorted, filling in his own blanks when he took another look at Jim, "I never took you for the sugar daddy type, but I suppose we all have vices." Those dark eyes took a long sweep over Jim's body again, "Not bad looking either. I have to say, you know how to pick your toys, Penguin!"

Oswald forced a dark chuckle, "Well, I like to think I have good taste in many things."

Oswald felt the fear clawing the back of his throat when Devon advanced on Jim. For his part, Jim adopted the proper cowed expression and posture in front of the man, sending Oswald several seemingly frightened glances. Oswald knew Jim wasn't afraid, the man had looked death in the face without flinching before, but it was a good effort. Oswald was afraid enough for two. 

"What's your name?" The larger man lead with. 

"Jim." There was no hesitation in that answer, just the usual vibrato he usually used when announcing his affiliation with the GCPD. 

"So, you're Penguin's?" Devon asked, and Jim hesitated before he nodded with a little shrug, "You been _together_ long?"

Jim shrugged again, offering a half smile, "A while, I guess?"

Devon looked over his shoulder at Oswald, "Where did you find him?"

Oswald could tell it was a bit of a game so he relaxed his body to seem as languid as possible and kept his eyes on his opponent rather than letting them stick to Jim, "He applied for a job at my club but the second I saw him I knew," Oswald did look at Jim then, raking his eyes over him for added weight to his words, "I could find considerably better uses for his talents than sticking him behind the bar all night."

Devon smirked at Oswald before he turned his attention back to Jim, "You're lucky he claimed you and didn't leave you hanging." Jim nodded, glancing between the two mob bosses with doe eyes that absolutely were exaggerated, "But next time I catch you snooping around, I won't find it amusing." He bent his knees just slightly to be on Jim's eye level, "You need to listen to Daddy next time and stay where you're supposed to."

Oswald nearly swallowed his tongue when Devon slammed a fist into Jim's gut. It took everything in him not to rush forward or reveal his hidden emergency weapons. They were out gunned with everyone in a single spot and neither of them in a position of cover. He couldn't see a fight ending well for either of them with four guards with weapons already drawn. 

If he had to, he would, for Jim, but it would not be ideal and he would hold off as long as possible. 

For his part, Jim dropped instantly to the ground like he'd been killed rather than trying to fight the way Oswald expected, feared, he would. He was so thankful Jim was being sensible, playing dumb and delicate like anyone with half a brain would. Considering Oswald knew Jim could have taken a lot more punishment and still hand enough fire to bring the big man to the ground with him, he suspected it was nothing but show. 

That general knowledge could not prevent the cloying worry. Oswald pressed his lips tightly in a line, scraping together his composure and schooling his face as best he could, forcing indifference into his voice, "Don't rough him up too much, my friend! I'm planning on having a nice evening and I can't if you break him."

"You can always get a new one," Devon offered coyly, but he moved away, easing just a little of Oswald's panic. 

"I hate having to find a new one." He waved away the notion like a fly, "I'm very particular. I like what I like and he's not overly complicated to keep happy." Oswald couldn't help searching out Jim's eyes to be sure he was alright and the fire of defiance blazing in them was the best thing he'd seen all day. "So are we done here?"

"Of course," Devon assured, a shark smile directed at his opponent, "I'll be in touch soon." The snap of fingers had Jim pulled to his feet and all but tossed in the direction of the door. 

Oswald followed at a leisurely pace, putting all his energy into seeming calm and collected. 

Once they were inside the car though, it felt like the world crashed around him. He felt dizzy and yet better all at once. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but most of all he wanted to yell. Even the ability to yell took him a while to pull together. 

Oswald turned on Jim and he simply could not help the shrill ring in his voice as he shouted, half hysterically, "Never, never do that to me again, James Worthington Gordon! I _mean_ it!"

Jim whirled around from his study out the window, eyes widened and clearly startled. He took a moment to study the smaller man and something like shame crept in, chastised at the least, and he settled his hand over Oswald's on the seat, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just trying to check on you but I should have been more careful."

Oswald let his eyes fall closed to shut out that repentant face. He was not ready to forgive him but those big, sad blue eyes could really get to him, penetrating all his defenses and efforts. He didn't pull his hand away though and neither did Jim, in fact, Jim's thumb began tracing tender little circles over the bones of Oswald's knuckles like it was perfectly normal. 

It was admittedly very calming, lulling his heart back to a normal speed, "They could have killed you. Outnumbered like that, I couldn't have stopped them. I wasn't wearing a wire in case they searched me so your FBI friends wouldn't even know you were in trouble."

"You don't have a wire and that's exactly why I had to check on you." Jim sighed, running his free hand over his face. 

It should not make Oswald's heart swell, he was doing his job. It was Jim's nature to protect everyone, it did not make him suddenly special now any more than it did the other times. His heart had trouble listening to reason. 

Oswald settled for, "Don't get caught next time, because knowing you, there will be a next time."

"Sure." Jim agreed. 

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Oswald was too tired not to let the worry shine through. 

Jim softened a bit more and smiled wryly, "Don't worry, I'm not going to ruin your evening by being hurt."

This time Oswald was the one glaring. 


	2. Chapter 2

The call arrived four days later, which was surprisingly, pleasingly swift. What was less pleasant was the venue arranged for the information drop; one of Devon's people would arrive at a tacky little bar that fancied itself exclusive and upscale. It was a poor imitation of his former club, or even Fish's. Worst of all, the meeting was on a Saturday night. If not for the information being so vital he would have refused.

Oswald watched the crowd below them, secure in his own world, watching them from behind a window as they readied for their revelry. Jim had left his newest wardrobe accessory draped over the back of the chair and Oswald absently ran his fingers over the coat, another leather creation very similar to his bounty hunter jacket. The leather was softer though because Oswald had been the one to supply it rather than the FBI, unbeknownst to Jim. 

He glanced toward the closed door of the bathroom, the light filtering out under the door. Occasionally, the shadow of Jim would dance about in it. 

"I thought you wanted to be early," Oswald called, "check the place out."

"I do!" Jim yelled back. 

"Then you might want to consider speeding yourself along rather than primping all night." Oswald could not resist the grin splitting his face when he heard Jim's irritable mumbling. 

Taking his police officer out of their hiding place was the last thing he wanted. The little studio they had been placed in was cheap, small, ugly, too close to the road... and it had been the home of some of the nicest days Oswald had spent in years. 

When they were away from Gotham, away from the pressure and the constant observation of Jim's precious GCPD, Oswald had discovered a different side to the other man. When they were alone, no glaring reminders thrown in their face that they were enemies, Jim was so terribly, wonderfully relaxed. Jim was a different man when placed in an alternate world. 

At first he'd been his usual, gruff self, but after a day together, it was like Jim forgot to think of them as enemies. Jokes with no malice or bite passed between them, the gruff facade turned to boyish smiles, Jim's rigidity faded and he began to sprawl on the couch beside Oswald when they watched the meager collection of the house movies. They poked fun at the movie plots and critiqued the poor grasp the movies had of reality. One night he had fallen asleep on the couch, unwilling to go to bed while Jim was beside him, and he had woken tucked under the blankets in the bed with his shoes propped up on the dresser. He shuffled out to find Jim half on the couch, half on the floor.

Oswald felt cared for and happy rather than trapped in the limited space. They were supposed to be in a whirlwind romance and to an extent, it felt like they were.

Sharing a one room flat ensured they were close as they were hard pressed to really avoid each other. They had even shared the bed three out of four nights. Oswald hugged his side of the bed and Jim hugged his, but feeling someone in the bed beside him, breathing, shifting carefully, that was strange and had an oddly intimate feel to it. It changed things, he could tell it did, for both of them. Sleeping beside the other, trusting each other enough to close their eyes and sleep, that changed things.

The first time Jim sounded so sure; "It's just a bed, Oswald. We can share it. You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine, no big deal."

But waking up with Jim's body curled around him the night before had indeed changed things even if Jim pretend he had not woken up before he carefully rolled to his own side of the bed. How it changed things, Oswald was not sure, but it did.

Jim learned so quickly too; he listened and observed, anticipating him in ways unrelated to this or future cases; he made him tea rather than coffee after the first morning of watching Oswald pass over the coffee pot to make a cup of Earl Grey.

He was thoughtful and more generous than expected. After watching Oswald limp around, studying him so carefully, he took the liberty of getting Oswald things so he wouldn't have to get up or move about more than necessary. Jim set to making a simple breakfast for both of them and making sandwiches at noon. He always served Oswald first, plating his own food second like some chivalrous chef. However, Oswald insisted on cooking in the evening after the first night because it was only right that he should, but also because it had been instantly evident Jim's talents were restricted to breakfast and sandwiches with no exceptions in the evening meal area. 

It was domestic and addictive in the worst possible way. It felt intimate, like having a friend, or something more. Without the GCPD, without reminders of the Penguin, without Gotham, things were so different.

He never expected removing him from Gotham and his responsibilities, or perhaps the pressure of it, would mellow Jim so dramatically. He was still himself but... softer, easier to be around, to love. It made him wonder if they had met under different circumstances, if they had not met in Gotham where their roles as enemies had already been cast, if they might not have been able to be friends.

The door crashed open abruptly and the storm cloud of Jim had returned in conjunction with the loss of his t-shirt and baggy jeans. 

Shiny black loafers with no visible socks adorned his feet again, which had already been a complaint before. This time, the jeans looked like they had been painted on for how tightly they clung to him and all his assets. The nearly translucent baby blue shirt hung half way open down his chest and it took Oswald a minute to realize it had been made to do so and short of sewing it up himself, Jim had no way to close it. There were even shiny rings on his fingers and bracelets on his wrists. 

The FBI made him look exactly like what Oswald told their target he was; Jim looked like a boy toy interested only in parties and... well, being pleasing to look at. Objectification at its most obvious. It was little wonder Jim wanted to remain hidden. He did not envy Jim in this particular situation and could only imagine how much it must sting the man's pride.

Oswald did not have the heart to make a comment considering Jim was all but crawling out of his skin. 

As something of a peace offering, Oswald held the jacket out to him. Jim's sour look faded only slightly but he mumbled a thanks as he pulled it on like draping a shock blanket over his shoulders. Once it was on he stood on a little more sure footing before he virtually stormed toward the door. He jerked it open, then leaned on it, waiting for his partner in crime and supposed "sugar daddy" to shuffle out first.

* * *

The club was crowded and there were so many people Oswald instantly felt the need to be far away. The music was so loud he could feel the bass in soles of his feet. After only taking a few steps in he waved an employee over and paid to be set up in one of the private sections that had wonderful division from the masses. They were just a few steps elevated too, not up to the second floor, but still elevated to offer them a slightly better view. 

It was a relief to be away from it the minute they stepped inside the mildly insulated walls. If they closed the curtain it would be even better and they could say they just wanted a little privacy to enjoy each other. Truthfully, they could play that card as often as needed if they pretended to be obsessed with each other.

Oswald sat down heavily in the leather booth style chair, "Alright, all we need to do it wait here for him."

"No, we need more of a visual advantage than this. This is too secluded. We can bring him here if he insists, but it's better if we keep him in the open." Jim motioned to the partitions and the curtain. 

"Of course it's secluded! It's well known this used to be a dance club and these sections were where you could have 'private' time with a dancer. They even kept the curtains!"

Jim tightened his jaw, "Our friends won't be able to see or hear anything."

"And?" Oswald arched a brow in challenge, "isn't that what you do for them? Report?"

Jim shook his head, "The initial contact needs to be photographed. After than we can come back here. We aren't wired other than my bracelet and I don't trust it not to glitch or be blocked out by the music. It can't be my word alone, and you're word isn't all that credible. The evidence needs to be as solid as possible."

This time, Oswald had too clench his jaw, "What do you really think some low level delivery boy is going to give you, Jim? We already know who is coming and do you really think someone named Donny is going to be a game changer for your war on crime? I doubt if this helps your case at all!"

"They have cameras," Jim continued, fully ignoring him, "they need to be able to see us and anyone that works for Devon clearly. If they have a good visual they might be able to read lips from the take so it can back up what we tell them. This room is a last resort, only if he insists on privacy. We're supposed to be out there, 'enjoying' ourselves, not hiding in here."

"I'm not going out there to be tossed around by dancing idiots! Staying in here is a better idea as it will assert our dominance in the exchange."

"Hiding makes us suspicious, we need to mingle." Jim insisted. 

"No, it elevates us above the other insignificant ants out there. It makes us look _less_ suspicious! They don't expect to see someone like me out there at the bar if there is no reason to be. Making a spectacle of ourselves makes us suspicious."

"We need him to openly give us the package or whatever he's giving up. It's got to be open. He needs to admit to whatever we can get him to; we might even try leading the conversation if you know of any jobs Devon pulled recently. The more we catch him giving you, the better."

"Seriously? Because insisting on being in the open is not at all unusual. Talking about crimes that don't pertain to me is typical behavior?"

"How about you listen to me since I'm actually in charge, not you!" Jim insisted with all his typical superiority. 

"I would be more inclined to listen if you had a single clue what you were doing!" Oswald hissed.

Jim did not even bother to take his eyes from their study of the outer room, "I've been a cop for a long time, you know. I know what juries want to see."

"Therein being the problem! You think like a cop and if you don't set aside that blazing ego for a minute and let me call the shots, you're going to get us both killed!"

"I'm here because you knew you needed me. I think that speaks plainly enough about which one of us should be in charge." Jim replied without even a hint he might see reason.

"Jim, you are without question the most..." _gorgeous_ and _stunning_ , his mind was unhelpful so far as descriptions, particularly when Jim's back was turned and he could look his fill, "...infuriating man I have ever known!"

Jim looked back at him from over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face, "I do my very best!" He motioned forward, "but maybe we should get out there. I think our guy just got here."

"I'm not going anywhere until you listen to me!" Oswald tapped his cane on the floor for emphasis. "You need to concede that I know what I'm doing and you need to follow my lead."

Jim cocked his head, studying him for a second before he shrugged one shoulder... and promptly moved out past the dividers and brazenly strolled into the main room. Jim as a cop was as annoying as ever regardless of how good he looked. His trim hips swayed to the noise, his body rolling with the flow of motion and swaying bodies the way Oswald never could have even before his injury. Jim looked like he belonged in such a setting.

Dressed as he was, he fit in with the writhing masses just trying to hook up or get high. Though, even then, Jim looked so much better, the fox in the hen house. 

Oswald closed his eyes a second, teeth clenched, "I'm going to skin him!" But he stepped out of his little shelter all the same to follow his infuriating cop. 

Oswald fended off the motion of the crowd rather than rolling with it like Jim had. He swore under his breath each time a sweaty body brushed up against him but a bit of jostling later had him at the bar beside Jim. He was seething but he was there anyway. His order to the bartender was considerably more curt than usual but Jim was ignoring his temper, faking absorption in his own drink, swiveling the stool back and forth by rolling his hips one way and then another. 

They were not alone long at all. Vultures could always tell when to strike, could smell a weakness or recent argument. 

"Are you here for a fencing lesson? Because I'm about to shove it in," a tall, muscular man with a shaved head crowded into Jim's space, not even bothering to sit on a stool. 

Oswald could just see the anger spark to life in Jim's eyes, but his face gave nothing away, "You into bondage? Because the only way I'm touching you is if you're handcuffed and I'm locking you in a cage." Hopefully he did not try to pull out a badge he didn't currently have.

Surprisingly, even after what Oswald would have considered a hard rebuff, the man only grinned, clearly not deterred, "Don't be like that," he slid his hands boldly up Jim's arm and over his chest, openly fondling, "I promise, you'll enjoy my thrust."

Jim's body snapped tight, muscles coiled. He looked suddenly hunted, almost trapped, because there was little he could do without drawing a considerable amount of attention. If he fought, in a crowd like this, it could start a full brawl, and in a lesser case, it would get him kicked out, "I'm already taken."

"Not till I take you, you're not."

Those daring fingers skating too boldly were more than enough to snap the composure Oswald had. This was exactly why he disliked being out amidst the drunken fools one encountered in these establishments. He could say it was an act later, say he did it to hold up the idea that they were together. He could say it was for their cover but he'd wanted to take the man's eyes out the second he appeared. 

Oswald did not even know he'd moved until he had the hidden blade in his cane pressed to that man's throat, "You clearly can't be very good at fencing considering how low your defense is." 

Jim was so quick, snatching Oswald's wrist and guiding the blade right back into its normal hiding place, "Easy, babe, you'll get us kicked out." Jim leaned toward him, grinning seductively, "not that I don't love it when you get sadistic. When you threaten people, it's so hot..."

Oswald's mouth went dry while heat climbed up his neck, but he smiled anyway, "Think how much hotter it will be when I skin him alive..." He couldn't quite get a pet name to roll off his tongue with that man so close. 

The shaven man scoffed, but took a clear step back, dropping his hands to his sides. 

Jim glanced at him then back to Oswald, running his fingers slowly up and down the beak of the metal penguin head as if he was considering, "It was so messy last time though, and I just got this shirt."

"I'm the only one allowed to touch you like that," Oswald very nearly growled, and he was surprised to know he wished it was true. 

Jim's eyes fluttered to half mast, "Yeah, baby," he agreed, voice bordering on husky, "just you!" He slid forward on the stool and rubbed his knee against Oswald's good leg, "You gonna take his hand off for touching me?"

Oswald glanced in the man's direction only to find the burly figure retreating fast into the crowd and he could only smirk at the realization that they successfully cleared away a rival. They really worked shockingly well together for enemies. Jim did not need to know it had not been entirely an act or that the jealousy and indignation over anyone touching Jim was too genuine. Jim never needed to know he would gladly have removed the man's hand as well as both his heads for daring to get so close, for daring to make Jim so obviously uncomfortable.

He lost the ability to breathe once Jim leaned that much farther over, mouthing at what he could of Oswald's neck around the collar of his shirt. "Relax, we're supposed to do things like this," Jim whispered, "We're lovers."

Lovers seemed too kind a description for what Oswald indicated Jim was too him but he made himself chuckle like he'd been told a joke, mustering every shred of his courage and settled his hand possessively on Jim's knee, "Be good! I know how much you like it when I threaten people, but we are in public. How many times have I reminded you about discretion?"

"You'll probably have to a few more times, Ozzie, I can't resist," Jim positively purred, settling a kiss to his nose and the corner of his mouth before he strung little kisses back to Oswald's ear, "Our guy is coming up behind you."

Oswald struggled to wrestle his mind into order and banish all the tiny, hot shivers those kisses caused to run through him. He both loved this and hated it at once. It felt wonderful and sickening at the same time. If Jim was going to kiss him like that it would have been nicer if it was not in front of a crowd even if it was fake. It was fake but it did not feel entirely fake even though it mostly did. The feelings were jumbled and confusing.

He leaned forward and slid both hands under Jim's leather jacket. He could feel the muscles jumping under his fingers, tense and unsure of his intention. In that shirt it almost felt like touching his palms to skin. People would assume he was touching inappropriately, assume it was lecherous, which was better than anyone realizing that Oswald wrapped his arms around Jim in a tight hug he hoped might ground them both.

He needed it and by the way Jim relaxed into it, maybe they both did. The hug was not an act, it was comfort and solidarity, real the way none of the rest was. Oswald needed just one honest thing, an honest touch between them to remember the deeper reality. He wanted the Jim that smiled when he brought him a grilled cheese sandwich and snickered when something amused him, not the promiscuous tool of vice he was pretending to be. 

Jim buried his face in Oswald's neck, whispering quietly, "he's here, along with two others." But he did not pull away or even particularly move, just left his hands settled on Oswald's thighs where they had originally fallen in the hug. 

A throat was cleared behind them followed by a snake oil voice, "Pardon my intrusion, Mr Cobblepot, but I believe we have some business to attend."

Reluctantly, Oswald dropped his hold on Jim and turned to face the man with as much of a bland, unimpressed look on his face as was possible, "You must be Donny." A man very, very much like the blond little social climber Oswald once had on staff as mayor before he beat him to death.

Jim slid off his stool to press up against Oswald's back and whisper in his ear, though he decidedly intended for the other man to hear, "Didn't you kill someone named Donny a few weeks ago?"

Oswald could not help chuckling at the way those beady eyes widened when Donny registered the words, "Not the same one, dear, a different Donny."

Jim nodded, pressing his chest up against Oswald's back and Oswald found himself settling into it like they belonged like that.

Donny cleared his throat again, "Why don't we move to a little quieter spot before we get started?"

"I already have one reserved." Oswald informed him easily, resisting the urge to offer any manner of a 'told you so' to Jim.

"I'm not finished with my drink," Jim protested petulantly, making that last effort to keep things in the open a little longer. He was so stubborn but Oswald was not about to allow this thug to sniff out his involvement with the FBI just because Jim wanted better evidence. If their FBI tails couldn't get a good picture while they were standing in the open they should get a different job, he was not going to hold their hand.

"Bring it with you. You had your fun at the bar already." Oswald instructed before he waddled through the irritating crowd.

Jim followed close, glued to his side like a protector. Oswald nearly tripped over his own feet, heart jumping into his throats when Jim's fingers threaded through his, but Jim took the lead then, tugging him along and plowing through the crowd for him. When they arrived in the little shelter all Oswald wanted to do was cling to Jim's hand and he could not bring himself to let go. Rather than letting go, he tugged Jim down into the seat beside him, keeping their fingers locked in case Jim tried to pull away. Instead of pull away, Jim draped his free arm over the back of the booth, lightly curling it around Oswald's shoulders.

Only Donny followed them in while the others stood guard, "You sure you want him in here while we talk?"

Oswald resisted the growl of annoyance his throat dearly wanted to release, "Trust me, Jim has heard and seen worse than anything you have to offer. He doesn't much care about my business so long as he gets to keep getting whatever he wants, though he does like to watch if things get messy. It's a beneficial arrangement for everyone."

Donny looked less than impressed but nodded all the same, tugging an envelope from his pocket, "We have eyes on your girl." He withdrew glossy pictures and tossed them on the table between them.

The pictures all featured an unmistakable dark haired woman in a long overcoat. Nyssa Al Ghul was decidedly in town and Oswald's pulse spiked as he snatched up a picture to study both her and her surroundings, "Where is she?"

Donny shrugged, "We dunno. She spotted our guy and gave him the slip but she can't get out of town without us knowing about it. We'll pick up her trail again soon enough."

Oswald showed his teeth in something that could not be called a smile, "Oh, you better keep that promise, believe me! I'm not accustomed to being deprived of what I want."

Donny nodded, "Don't worry. But about your part of the deal-"

"You gave me next to nothing, nothing but pictures! How much do you really think that's worth to me?" Oswald snapped.

"Maybe you won't last much longer than the last Donny." Jim offered gleefully, eyes surprisingly eager as he looked the man over as if estimating how long he would last.

Donny rolled his shoulders, "I'm just here to negotiate."

Jim tossed a leg over Oswald's lap and settled against him, "You might wanna do a better job. If you have to give him bad news, you gotta grease the wheels a little better than that," He warned with a cheeky grin.

Donny offered a snide snort, "I doubt there is room for two on his lap. I do my job a little differently than you do." 

Jim offered too many teeth in his smile, "Different, maybe, but I'll bet I outlive you."

"Alright," Oswald cut in, "back to business, we have much to talk about."

He settled a hand on Jim's knee because he knew it was more or less expected from him in this sort of position but touching him like that felt very strange. As they talked, however, the initial discomfort faded and he found himself idly running his fingers in circles around Jim's kneecap. A few minutes in and Jim tucked his head into Oswald's neck and pretended to fall asleep.

Once it was finished they went directly home, giving off the heavy impression they had a bed they needed to crawl into. The reality was considerably different once they were safely in the car. Jim jumped away from him like he'd been shocked, sitting very stiffly in his own seat.

Oswald said nothing, allowing the silence to weigh them down as he navigated the hopeless feelings of hurt for the wall of ice Jim so suddenly threw up. He understood, he really did. It could not have bee easy for Jim to pretend to be his lover, to toss away his pride and make believe he was a play thing to a mobster.

He hated it but he understood. None of that had been real, not like the quiet moments in the flat when they were alone and free to be what they wished. It felt like violating everything, all the ground they gained, all the softer moments. His shoulders were knotted up and his jaw had been tight for possibly the entire night. He ran a hand down his face before he began to rub circles into his temples and the building headache.

Jim was suddenly closer, the wall of ice gone, a worried crease between his brows, "Are you alright?"

"The music," Oswald lied, pretending the tension was not the real cause, "It was so loud."

Jim tugged at his shoulders without warning, pulling and positioning his smaller body until he was curled up on the seats, feet resting on the door as his head was pillowed in Jim's lap. "Just close you eyes and relax for a while."

It was strange, perhaps the strangest feeling in the world when Jim began to rub at his head, fingers working over his scalp and forehead in circular motion. It was shockingly hypnotic and even disorienting, feeling Jim's touch all around his head. Even more shocking was the way the throbbing pressure lifted away the longer Jim worked. It felt like magic, lulling him into a calm, holding him on the edge of sleep.

"I used to get a lot of headaches after the accident," Jim confessed softly, "I taught myself ways to make it better."

It seemed like such a sad look into Jim's life somehow. No mention of a mother's touch helping him through, just the usual story of self reliance he had come to expect from Jim. It made him wonder if anyone had ever taken care of that young, blond little boy or if Jim's self reliance had been learned behavior born of necessity. Jim never spoke of family and from Oswald's visits to his home, there were no pictures on display. The man never took a holiday to visit anyone. Out of a sense of respect, Oswald never looked into that part of Jim's life but now he wished he had, wished he knew whether or not anyone looked after a little boy that got headaches.

Jim was skilled too, easing the pain with his touch like a medieval healer, and soon enough Oswald was boneless in his hold, "How about some broccoli cheese soup when we get back? I can't mess that up too bad since it's from a can, right?"

Oswald cracked one eye open and considered telling him they could order in but he smiled instead and offered a wistful, "That sounds perfect, old friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in my defense, when I wrote this thing, the deleted scene about the sub sinking wasn't out so.... I didn't know she was already taken care of. It kind of "sunk" my plot, but oh well.


	3. Chapter 3

Even once he fell asleep, subconsciously Jim was struggling mightily. The way he clung to his side of the bed, fingers twisted in the bed sheet as an anchor, it made it obvious how careful he was being to avoid moving anywhere into the designated space that belonged to Oswald. For his part, Oswald was barely breathing, watching Jim's back as thoughts swirled round and round his head in endless, hopeless loops.

There were so many things to consider both about his plans to enact revenge on what he dearly hoped was the last of the Al Ghul's, recover his darling dog, somehow smuggle his own stolen money out from under the FBI's nose... and find some sort of balance with Jim. The man was a confusing ball of turmoil that ran as hot and cold as Fries and Bridget. Things could be going well one moment and plummet the next. Oswald could fluctuate from wanting to stab him to wanting to crawl into his lap in a matter of seconds. There had to be a better way, a way to even out the shifts.

Rubbing his eyes in annoyance, he tried to convince himself to sleep instead of staring at the t-shirt clinging to the curves of Jim's upper body visible above the thick comforter. It was precisely ridiculous to prop himself up in order to look at the sleeping man and be enamored by his beauty but even worse to catch himself smiling like an idiot.

He settled his head firmly into the pillow to avoid the temptation to watch Jim's lashes flutter. Unconsciously, he worked the sheets between his fingers to offer them something to be occupied with. The city was cold and windy, similar to Gotham, but not entirely; sometimes it seemed considerably colder at night so the blanket was very necessary.

Sometimes it even felt cold underneath it and that was the most likely reason for the way Jim had curled around him before, seeking out the heat source closest to him. So why was it so impossible to banish the feeling of being curled up in Jim's arms, safe, warm, and cared for? He felt the bite of the cold so keenly after Jim rolled away in order to pretend nothing had happened. 

He slithered closer, trying to be silent and avoid rocking the bed in any way. The longing might ease, he theorized, if he was just that little bit closer. Jim was so warm, he could feel it even before he tilted his head forward and pressed his forehead between Jim's shoulder blades. Closing his eyes, he soaked up the warmth against him forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and right to the cold, pointed tip. If he nuzzled in just a little he would swear it was entirely for he delicious body heat rather than the pure enjoyment of touch.

Jim's scent filled his nostrils, cotton, skin, and the remnants of the cologne he had been wearing. It was heady and almost spicy, warm, just like Jim. It was a terrible thought to realize that he could easily get used to it.

"You're freezing," Jim slurred and Oswald froze, petrified, hoping against hope the man would not fully wake up.

The unthinkable happened and for a long moment he could neither think nor breathe. That toned collection of muscle and hard spine shifted, nudging his nose as Jim moved, flopping about until he had finally turned himself around. An arm was tossed gracelessly over him, sliding into place around Oswald's ribs and up his back like an embrace. His head ended up tucked under Jim's chin as the man fell directly back asleep if he had been awake at all to start with.

Oswald could not help the way he snuggled closer; could not help closing his eyes to properly bask in the wonderful feeling of being held again; and he really could not help the likely goofy smile on his lips.

* * *

Jim was considerably more at home in the brushed twill chinos Oswald secretly had delivered. There was no way the cheap leather monstrosity the FBI sent would fit over Jim's hips even if they were supposed to ride low; there really was a line and indecent exposure was the line. Oswald hid those pants the second he saw them in the package the fake UPS worker brought.

The silver metallic shirt he left mixed in with the bugged jewelry, but he hid the leather vest with the pants while he set up his own delivery. The men's thong they included, however, went directly in the trash and he was just thankful Jim had been in the shower and would never find out about them.

Jim did not need to know he made some adjustments before they left. His delivery man was discrete and the clothes he brought were... not something you expected to see dollar bills stuffed into while the person wearing them danced with a pole.

He couldn't watch Jim try to shrink in on himself one more time. Someone like Jim should not be self conscious, should not feel like hiding because he'd been forced to dress like a sex worker. 

Jim did not seem to mind the metallic shirt so long as he could cover it with the leather jacket. After being forced to wear something anyone could see through, the metallic shirt likely seemed mild. 

Even so, Oswald was of a mind to take over the entirety of decision making on what Jim had in his closet. If he were really his "sugar daddy" he would not let either of them be caught dead in the things the FBI put him in save the shoes. 

Jim waved Oswald over once he had taken a look around the building. It took some time, but with the pictures as a guide, they had followed Nyssa's trail. Jim was a cop through and through, and refused to let him out of the car until he was sure the area was secure. 

Oswald shuffled over, leaning heavily on his cane, avoiding the litter cluttering the alleyway. Jim ran his tongue over his teeth, eyeing the cane like he expected it to either break or bite. It was a little surprising but he didn't resist when Jim took the cane, substituting his arm in place of it as they walked into the trashy little motel. It was for appearances, no doubt. 

The man at the desk only found himself cooperative when Oswald offered him a few green bills, at which point he not only recognized the picture they showed him, but let them go to the room she rented. 

Oswald was glad of Jim's support at that point as the elevator was broken and they had no choice but to use the stairs. Jim moved slowly, carefully, letting him lean on him as much as the railing. He had climbed worse but that did not mean he was overjoyed. 

Stairs were always a little more difficult. Before his injury he'd never looked twice at them, never dreaded climbing them, but after his leg was mangled they presented quite a different level of unpleasant. He never let it stop him but he hated them all the same. The worst thing about an injury was realizing anew each time he struggled with his range of motion that he couldn't do things the way he used to, constantly reminded that he was at a disadvantage against the rest of the world. 

Jim didn't comment on the way Oswald flinched, spine jerking straight as the spasm clenched in his leg when they entered the motel room but he _accidentally_ moved a chair right beside him. He was deliberate about ignoring Oswald's discomfort but Jim was a cop, not a renown actor, though he was rather good at acting when necessary. Still, anyone that knew him well, knew him the way Oswald did, those people could spot his lies from a mile away. 

The tough, gruff Commissioner could not be seen showing open concern and it was almost enough to make Oswald laugh. He dropped into the chair all the same and watched Jim search the room over like a dog digging for a buried bone. 

Oswald watched Jim overturn the mattress, stripping the bed down, and shook his head, "Times like these, I'm so glad you've never searched my home. I can't imagine the mess you would make."

Jim glanced at him, offering a lopsided grin, "Don't like my orderly mess? My organized chaos?"

"Organized?" Oswald arched a brow, "Olga would be appalled, I can assure you."

"Does that mean after you get tired of being my ' _benefactor_ ' you won't hire me?" Jim winked, "I'm hurt, Oswald, I thought you liked me for more than my body."

Jim had no idea, none at all. 

Oswald couldn't keep the helpless giggle at bay, "Well, I suppose Olga could be convinced to take you on as an apprentice. You clearly need all the help you can get. She has been known to work miracles so she might be able to help even you."

Jim was so much more than beautiful, but watching him bend over to inspect the box spring... there was something to be said for aesthetics. 

Jim winced, "You're so harsh!"

"In this case, I'm being kind." Oswald tisked. 

"I'm very organized, thank you very much! This shouldn't be what my skills are rated by." Jim shook his head, tossing the mattress back into place, "The maid here will strip the bed anyway, I'm saving someone the trouble."

"You're assuming this place has a cleaning staff and that's a rather large assumption." Oswald couldn't hold down his smile, he never could when Jim was playful like this, even the throbbing in his leg couldn't dampen his enjoyment of the moment. 

Jim snorted, "You're not wrong but hopefully someone cleans these places."

"They don't hurry with the cleaning at least, but that's in our favor at the moment." Oswald eased to his feet, moving very slowly to what qualified as the kitchen and began openning cupboards and drawers. 

She left what little she had but that was not likely indication she would return for one set of cutlery. It was likely she had no attachment to anything and could drop it all without hesitation. 

"I do have to wonder... why she decided to rest her head here. She could do considerably better with all her wealth," Oswald bit his tongue, remembering at the last second that no one was not supposed to know about the money she stole from him as it would be harder to re-acquire it if they did. 

Too late, "What wealth?" 

Oswald huffed, heart beating a touch faster, "The daughter of some ancient, insane, cult leader can't very well be destitute, Jim." He had not told Jim the real reason he wanted to go after her beyond the obvious.

Jim offered a thoughtful sound of contemplation, "I figured she burned through most of that funding her stupid war. Besides, how is she going to get at his money? Do you really think he left it in a will? I guess she can get by on his name..."

"No doubt she can get her hands on what she wants." He muttered irritably, thinking about the fortune she stole out from under him; she might not have gotten everything, because not everything would fit in the sub, but she got more than he was willing to part with. And Edward, which he really was not willing to let go. 

"Maybe she is laying low because she knows people are after her. Even the rich will live like pigs if it means staying alive our out of prison." Jim offered. 

"I would wager it is exactly that. She knows she is being pursued, how could she not?"

Jim sighed, "Think she has connections in Steel City too, or did you corner that market?"

Oswald smirked ruefully, "I doubt I'm the only one, no, but I hope she is as secluded here as possible."

There was next to nothing in the kitchen but he continued to search, hoping to find a clue or something incriminating if he just looked long enough. He could see her being the type to hide things in very odd locations. Taped to the underside of a light or any such thing. If only he could find the sub that easily! A circle on a map would be nice. Or a trail of breadcrumbs. He would accept anything.

A pack of cigarettes was pushed off to the side near the microwave and a little match box with it. He scooped up the matches to read the tacky little printed logo on the front. The "Chilly Pepper" was seemingly the place she or the person in the room before her went clubbing. Perhaps she was looking for a fence for all his stolen treasure. Why else would she have been been clubbing?

Oswald jumped when Jim wrapped a strong arm around his chest, almost pinning him against the counter, holding something up too close to his eyes, "Look what I found!" He sounded so gleeful, like a puppy showing off.

He pushed back, pressing bodily against Jim to force him to take a step back, "You are squishing me in your over-zealousness," he muttered, turning to face him, hand braced on Jim's shoulder as he pushed the set of high heels away from him, "Why are you waving those dirty things at me?"

"We need to stop in at the Chilly Pepper, that's why." Jim told him simply, dropping the shoes to his side.

Oswald cocked his head, trying not to let his surprise be evident, "Exactly what brought that revelation about?"

Jim hooked one finger in the waistband of his pants as he rested his hand on his hip, "Well, the club... one of the clubs your pal Devon owns is well known to to use red glitter rather heavily. They spray it at guests and they even put the edible kind in drinks."

Oswald arched a brow, "Your point would be?"

Jim lifted the shoes again, waving them about for inspection. Oswald took a real look this time and noticed the red sparkle dusting the black leather, ground into the seams and into the soles. "These are approximately her size and the most likely place to pick up all this red glitter is at the club where it would have been unavoidable. You can tell by the wear pattern than she was walking in it for some time. She's been there at least once in the past few days."

Oswald smirked, "Oh, detective! Look at you sounding like Ed."

Jim glowered and Oswald wished he could call those words right back, but he did his best to cover, "So she's been clubbing? Is there any reason to think she will go clubbing at the... Chilly Pepper again? Particularly as we are looking for her?"

Jim sighed like Oswald stole all his joy in life, "It's worth a look. She clearly had some reason to go there since she doesn't strike me as the party type. Someone might know her if she's been there. It's all we really have because I didn't find anything hidden in any of the usual spots people hide things."

"No, I think you are onto something." Oswald held up the matches.

Jim narrowed his eyes accusingly, "You could have mentioned those sooner."

Oswald leaned into Jim's space, "Now where would be the fun in that? This way you got to show me how good you are at your job," he winked playfully and walked around the glaring man, "I think it's time I took you out on a wild, carnal night on the town, don't you?"

He could hear Jim dragging his feet as he followed behind him, "I can't wait..."

Oswald pivoted to look at Jim when he got to the door, "Would it make you feel better if I said I would let you stay in the clothes you have on now rather than... say... a hideous leather monstrosity?" He was well aware that little accessory on Jim's wrist was connected right to someone's ear and he hoped to send a message, "Don't worry! I would not let you go out looking like your name is _Hard Candy_."

Jim pulled a face of pure disgust, "Thanks... I guess."

Oswald grinned, reveling in his own secret, "As I'm your 'sugar daddy' now, I might as well get to dress you up. At least I won't want to pretend I don't know you that way."

Jim's scowl deepened.

Oswald patted Jim's shoulder, "You might even learn something from me that will help you look... less... well, better than you usually do."

Jim jutted out his jaw, dropping the shoes and resting both hands on his hips, "How about we focus less on my style and more on getting Nyssa?"

"Agreed!" Oswald snatched up his cane and strolled out, feeling more than slightly smug, at least until he remembered what floor they were on.

* * *

When they got past the huge glass doors in the front the lights dimmed considerably, forcing guests the rely on the inlay red lines of lights in the floor to guide their way. They got through just fine, Jim dutifully letting Oswald hang on his arm, playing the part of a trophy the way he likely had to for Barbara at society parties back when they had been engaged.

It was considerably crowded but not so much that it was overly challenging to move through the isles of people nor would it be impossible to procure a table. The low lights were punctuated by the colored spotlights swinging around from above and the music was the typical variety with the bass turned up past all the rest of the theoretical instruments. It was a popular enough establishment but it was not nearly as intolerable as the club they had been to before. 

Oswald found the glitter annoying and tacky but he did not feel the same degree of aversion to it that Jim clearly did. Jim nearly turned inside out trying to escape the scantily clad woman in red that tossed glitter at them as they passed. He managed to dodge her only for a second one to catch him on the other side; at that point he heaved a long suffering sigh and resigned himself to his sparkly fate.

Oswald held in his laughter rather well, he thought, but Jim rolled his eyes, "Fine, laugh it up. I know you're enjoying this."

Oswald put on as innocent an expression as possible while staring at the glitter reflecting in Jim's hair, "I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Right, and the Tooth fairy leaves money under your pillow at night too." He rolled his eyes like a petulant teen.

Oswald made a show of feigning shock, "Are you implying that is not the case when small children put their teeth under their pillows?"

"Just make fun of me and get it over with," Jim nudged him with his elbow.

Oswald allowed himself a long look, and aside from Jim's irritation, there was nothing to laugh at as far as his appearance, "You look wonderful, Jim. A little thing like glitter is in no way going to destroy that Gordon charm. You mistake me for your juvenile friend, Harvey. I am considerably more tolerable." 

Oswald spotted a table and tugged Jim in the direction of it. There was a decent view of the establishment from that vantage point and it was mildly secluded, enough to offer sufficient privacy. They could observe everything and that would offer them a better chance, if indeed she made an appearance, to find their target. Once they established whether or not she might arrive during the evening, if she did not appear, they could search out her potential contacts and ask a few well worded questions of the staff.

Oswald and Jim both skidded to a stop when a large figure stepped directly into their path. Oswald's heart pumped into his throat when he tipped his head back enough to see Devon standing with his huge arms crossed over his huge chest, "Oswald, Jim! I did not know you two were coming."

"Oh, well," Oswald's fingers tightened on Jim's arm as he took a protective step forward to do what little he could to keep Jim out of the way, "it seemed like a desirable place to while away the night!" He put on his friendliest smile, doing what he could to seem genuinely pleased, "I had no idea you would be here though, what a pleasant surprise!"

Devon nodded, that smile Oswald always wanted to cut off Moroni's face appearing on this man as it had the former mafioso, "I couldn't be happier to have caught you! I have some things to discuss with you."

Jim took that step, coming up even with Oswald though it was the last thing in the world he wanted him to do.

Oswald smiled widely anyway, "By all means! That would be only too agreeable!" 


End file.
